[Moro being Moro, she will probably catch sight and smell of Ginko before he notices her.
If she does, she will probably see something very similar to what her daughter saw-- as it is these thoughts that fill Ginko's mind often, when he's in the forest.]
[Moro does spot him, and the images intrigue her. She turns her full attention to him, remaining silent as she observed, ignoring Ginko entirely to watch what he was remembering, the focused perception reflecting that in her own bubble.]
[After a moment-- Ginko notices her. He smiles a little and inclines his head, following her gaze to the thoughts that shift over him.
But instead of saying anything, the thoughts respond to her presence-- a man with a crown of ferns growing from his thatched hat. A catfish crowned with moss. Shapeless white figures sitting in a ring, suspended in the darkness. A snow-covered mountain, that at closer inspection is a great coiled serpent.
[It's almost painfully clear in her body language that such images pacify her. She hasn't seen such gods in a painfully long time, with such beauty and power, and it eases her to witness them, even through another's eyes.
Echoing his memories, Moro grants him a window into her own. She thought in as vivid detail as possible, the eerie, beautiful form of the Nightwalker, of the boars readying for battle, of massive wolf packs, and of her own pups. She shares the images of her forest, where the trees were so tall they even dwarfed Moro, perhaps even dwarfing the mountian in Luceti, trunks so thick and the greenery so rich that it was impossible for life to be void there.
The playful images of spirits also came to mind, namely the kodama. Most spirits were of sound and smell to Moro - unlike Ginko, she could not see the spirits, only feel them, save for what was strong enough to be tangible.]
[Ginko grins at the kodama, green eye wide with interest. He's never seen anything like that-- the mushi he would call Kodama in his world is of a very different nature.
And at the Nightwalker-- pure awe.
His thoughts reflect this-- a single, ghostly white bamboo in a great forest of bamboo. A mountain valley as unearthly green and lush as the forest Moro projects. And, as if to show her the humans of his world-- a boy, whose left hand brings the figures he draws to life.
Tanyuu-- skin covered in crawling script, living things being tenderly sealed away without harm.]
[Moro hesitates at the image of humans, unsure whether or not to be pleased. Her first association is that of Ashitaka, and a few other fuzzy figures from the past, of humans worshiping and providing tribute to the gods, of them begging forgiveness for trespassing and requesting guidance out of the forest, to safety. Even of humans quietly selecting the frailest, sickest trees to cut and use for firewood, or the smaller trees for building materials, all the while replacing as much as they could.
But it's impossible for her to repress the association. The images of the forest that had been completely demolished, of an entire slope of the mountain devoid of life, the apes hopelessly planting seedlings and being shot at for their efforts to restore what was destroyed. Images of the boars charging towards the humans, the explosives that killed them lighting the sky red with fire and blood. Yet again, Eboshi, as she lead women and lepers with guns towards the edge of the forest, wielding guns and firing. The moment where the bullet
( ... )
And as he watches-- the strength of his sympathy, his frustration with the wanton destruction-- plays out in reflective thoughts.
An image from his perspective-- arguing with a woman. Then arguing with a group of men, as they cut down trees. This image jarred and shaky, as he's roughly pulled away-- and then shut off altogether by the walls of a shed. It breaks into the open again, but only to see fire creeping over the face of a mountains-- burning everything. The image it leaves in it's wake is almost a reflection of Moro's memory
( ... )
[Moro's face scrunched into a scowl. She knew humans were disgusting everywhere, in various degrees. She didn't need Ginko to tell her about it.
Instead, her thoughts sour and focus on Eboshi, and she snarls, picturing in vivid detail crushing Eboshi in her jaws. And if there was ever an image that could properly depict the hatred, the pain and the cruel irony of the bullet in Moro's chest being made of the iron in the soil taken from the forest, it certainly materializes in her thoughts. Moro's growls are less than silent, and a strange self-awareness is present in her thoughts. She sees herself with a festering heart, body rotting from the inside out because of this bullet and because of this hatred, much the way the boars were rotting and turning into demons.
Her pups were her only reprieve - the determination to slaughter Eboshi with her own fangs all that kept her a god and not a demon.]
[Ginko isn't even certain what memories were reflected in the thoughts over his head-- but Moro's are certainly clear. He quirks an eyebrow at Eboshi's demise-- withholding either approval or disapproval from the scene.
But at the scene of Moro rotting away-- a very strange contortion of images passes over his head. Images he isn't even fully aware of. The same man with the mark of the god over his head-- being swallowed up in white jaws. A man splitting in two, down the abdomen. A great swarm of black, like a hand clutching a man.
And finally-- mixed with the others and vague-- an imagined image of Ginko himself, standing in the dark. A ring of inhuman figures at the edges of the darkness. And that very darkness creeping over his skin like a living thing....until there is nothing left.
[Moro's thoughts go blank for a moment as she watches what Ginko is showing her. Which, of course, is reflected in her thoughts. She waits, before turning her attention to Ginko for the first time during this encounter.
If Ginko looks, he will see exactly how Moro perceives him. In the image is the vague silhouette of a man, the hair and eye the only tangible features that caught her eye. The rest... the rest was purely scent. The green aura that hung on him was, in a sense, the scents of nature. And from his face... another 'scent', coming from his other eye. The most overwhelming and defined scent.]
[He's very intrigued by this image-- and, when he realizes what it is-- he smiles a little.
There's a brief image of Ginko as a child-- and a man's hand reaching to push aside the fringe of white hair, thumb pressing beneath an emptiness that was really a living thing.]
But there is a point where there is too much life. Where the overabundance overwhelms, and creates more than it can support. When life exceeds death, the explosion of it takes lives.
[It...surprises him, sometimes-- how the god speaks with a natural understanding of the forces that influence his life more keenly than any others. He looks at her, a little bemused.
His mind reflects the Ragged Road-- a place where a gap allows too many mushi to concentrate in one area-- and cut wood grows choked with new leaves]
That is certainly true. I've seen the effects of both-- where there are too few mushi, the earth is barren. Where there are too many-- fruit over-ripens, and the line between life and death is blurred.
[out of habit, he pulls out a cigarette and light it at the thought]
That wildness of life... that is what strengthens the gods. I showed you what happens to the boars. That is when their control over their own strength is lost, and they become monsters.
If she does, she will probably see something very similar to what her daughter saw-- as it is these thoughts that fill Ginko's mind often, when he's in the forest.]
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But instead of saying anything, the thoughts respond to her presence-- a man with a crown of ferns growing from his thatched hat. A catfish crowned with moss. Shapeless white figures sitting in a ring, suspended in the darkness. A snow-covered mountain, that at closer inspection is a great coiled serpent.
Gods.]
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Echoing his memories, Moro grants him a window into her own. She thought in as vivid detail as possible, the eerie, beautiful form of the Nightwalker, of the boars readying for battle, of massive wolf packs, and of her own pups. She shares the images of her forest, where the trees were so tall they even dwarfed Moro, perhaps even dwarfing the mountian in Luceti, trunks so thick and the greenery so rich that it was impossible for life to be void there.
The playful images of spirits also came to mind, namely the kodama. Most spirits were of sound and smell to Moro - unlike Ginko, she could not see the spirits, only feel them, save for what was strong enough to be tangible.]
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And at the Nightwalker-- pure awe.
His thoughts reflect this-- a single, ghostly white bamboo in a great forest of bamboo. A mountain valley as unearthly green and lush as the forest Moro projects. And, as if to show her the humans of his world-- a boy, whose left hand brings the figures he draws to life.
Tanyuu-- skin covered in crawling script, living things being tenderly sealed away without harm.]
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But it's impossible for her to repress the association. The images of the forest that had been completely demolished, of an entire slope of the mountain devoid of life, the apes hopelessly planting seedlings and being shot at for their efforts to restore what was destroyed. Images of the boars charging towards the humans, the explosives that killed them lighting the sky red with fire and blood. Yet again, Eboshi, as she lead women and lepers with guns towards the edge of the forest, wielding guns and firing. The moment where the bullet ( ... )
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And as he watches-- the strength of his sympathy, his frustration with the wanton destruction-- plays out in reflective thoughts.
An image from his perspective-- arguing with a woman. Then arguing with a group of men, as they cut down trees. This image jarred and shaky, as he's roughly pulled away-- and then shut off altogether by the walls of a shed. It breaks into the open again, but only to see fire creeping over the face of a mountains-- burning everything. The image it leaves in it's wake is almost a reflection of Moro's memory ( ... )
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Instead, her thoughts sour and focus on Eboshi, and she snarls, picturing in vivid detail crushing Eboshi in her jaws. And if there was ever an image that could properly depict the hatred, the pain and the cruel irony of the bullet in Moro's chest being made of the iron in the soil taken from the forest, it certainly materializes in her thoughts. Moro's growls are less than silent, and a strange self-awareness is present in her thoughts. She sees herself with a festering heart, body rotting from the inside out because of this bullet and because of this hatred, much the way the boars were rotting and turning into demons.
Her pups were her only reprieve - the determination to slaughter Eboshi with her own fangs all that kept her a god and not a demon.]
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But at the scene of Moro rotting away-- a very strange contortion of images passes over his head. Images he isn't even fully aware of. The same man with the mark of the god over his head-- being swallowed up in white jaws. A man splitting in two, down the abdomen. A great swarm of black, like a hand clutching a man.
And finally-- mixed with the others and vague-- an imagined image of Ginko himself, standing in the dark. A ring of inhuman figures at the edges of the darkness. And that very darkness creeping over his skin like a living thing....until there is nothing left.
Souls being swallowed up.]
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If Ginko looks, he will see exactly how Moro perceives him. In the image is the vague silhouette of a man, the hair and eye the only tangible features that caught her eye. The rest... the rest was purely scent. The green aura that hung on him was, in a sense, the scents of nature. And from his face... another 'scent', coming from his other eye. The most overwhelming and defined scent.]
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There's a brief image of Ginko as a child-- and a man's hand reaching to push aside the fringe of white hair, thumb pressing beneath an emptiness that was really a living thing.]
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...And with that eye, you are connected to the spirits. To my domain.
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Mm. The eye was eaten when I was a child.
My ability to see mushi, and the condition that draws them to me are things that I was born with.
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But there is a point where there is too much life. Where the overabundance overwhelms, and creates more than it can support. When life exceeds death, the explosion of it takes lives.
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His mind reflects the Ragged Road-- a place where a gap allows too many mushi to concentrate in one area-- and cut wood grows choked with new leaves]
That is certainly true. I've seen the effects of both-- where there are too few mushi, the earth is barren. Where there are too many-- fruit over-ripens, and the line between life and death is blurred.
[out of habit, he pulls out a cigarette and light it at the thought]
That's why I can never stay long in one place.
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